


The Wrath of a King

by FrostbitePanda



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, One-Shot, Pettiness, a refute to certain "ideas" that have been unearthed by certain people, and also he's mad as hell, and maester wolkan is involved in the citadel plot to forever fuck with the targs, but dont come at me with this vile shit about my boy, daenerys targaryen protection squad, dany is preggo, doing vile shit to my girl, drink it up jonerys fam, drink this piping hot tea, i am that petty of a bitch, jon snow protection squad, salt fic, shameless salty shade, this soft bitch knows no king but the king in the north whos name is right and proper, watch out haters, weird nebulous canon space, what did i say?, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 13:53:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15559143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostbitePanda/pseuds/FrostbitePanda
Summary: The cup came clattering to the floor, splitting into pieces upon the stone.“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” Missandei murmured with an apologetic look. “I am so clumsy sometimes.”Dany looked at her friend, a bit bewildered. Missandei was one of the most graceful people she knew… but she supposed even the most graceful creature could stumble every so often. “Never mind,” she said. “It’s just a cup.”(In which a certain maester Fucks Up(tm). Please read the tags)





	The Wrath of a King

The cup came clattering to the floor, splitting into pieces upon the stone.

 

“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” Missandei murmured with an apologetic look. “I am so clumsy sometimes.” 

 

Dany looked at her friend, a bit bewildered. Missandei was one of the most graceful people she knew… but she supposed even the most graceful creature could stumble every so often. “Never mind,” she said. “It’s just a cup.”

 

“I can make you another draught, Your Grace,” Maester Wolkan said to her as he bent to collect the shards of the little stone cup. “It would be no trouble, and, as I said, it helps with the nausea.”

 

Dany was just about to give her thanks and acquiesce when Missandei caught her eye. Her friend was giving her a rather odd, almost alarmed look. Something queer clenched in her belly that had nothing to do with morning sickness. “Actually maester Wolkan, I am quite tired. I think I may try to rest awhile. Could you perhaps return tomorrow?”

 

Wolkan looked at her doubtfully, but finally bowed and left the room. 

 

“Care to explain what that was about?” Dany asked Missandei as soon as she was sure they were truly alone. She walked to the wash basin and splashed herself with some water, looking over at the plethora of crocks and vials the maester had left for her.

 

Missandei wrinkled her brow, looking deeply concerned.  “When I went to retrieve a towel for you… after your examination… I observed the maester placing something into your tea, Your Grace.”

 

Dany turned to look at the other woman, at a loss. “Well, it is a tincture of sorts. I imagine that a potion like that would contain many ingredients.” To illustrate her point she waved to the collection of said materials at her elbow. 

 

“You will not find the herb he placed in your tea on that table, Your Grace.”

 

Dany walked slowly forward, dread truly taking hold now. “Do you know what this herb was?”

 

“I couldn’t be sure as it was gone within a breath,” Missandei replied, biting her lip. “I wasn’t certain until I smelled it, Your Grace.”

 

“And what was this smell?”

 

“Tansy, Your Grace.” 

 

Dany felt her knees wobble. She stumbled to the little bench at the foot of the fourposter, trying awfully hard to hold back the bile that rose in her throat. She had never encountered tansy before, but she knew well what it was and what it’s purpose was. She did not need to ask how Missandei was so familiar with such an herb-- enduring the torment that she did under Kraznys and others besides. 

 

Her hand went to her belly, just now rounding, nary the size of a honeydew. “Why…?”

 

Missandei came to sit next to her, throwing an arm over her shaking shoulders. “Tansy, if delivered in constant, small doses, would mirror a natural… a natural rejection.”

 

Dany looked to her friend, a sheen of sweat forming on her brow. “Why would he want to do such a thing? Why?”

 

Missandei shook her head, her face as sorrowful as Dany had ever seen it. “I cannot say, Your Grace.”

 

Dany closed her eyes, her thoughts a vicious swirl within her. She let out a long, slow breath. “I don’t know if I could ever thank you enough, my friend.”

 

“Of course, Your Grace,” Missandei said, brushing a loving hand down her long plait. “But now… what do we do?”

 

Dany shook her head, stunned like a rabbit caught in a snare. 

 

There was a soft knock at the door and in stepped Jon, looking surly. “Damned bastards kept me over. Lord Manderly can wheeze for hours. I apologize, my--” he stopped mid-rant and mid-stride. He was supposed to be here with her for her examination. She had been upset at first that duty had kept him, but now she was thankful. Maester Wolkan would likely be dead already.

 

He stepped toward her, his eyes wide in concern, in panic. “What’s wrong? Gods, is there something…?” He glanced to Missandei for answers in the wake of Dany’s reticence. He looked near to collapsing on the floor in despair. 

 

“I’ll leave you, Your Graces,” Missandei whispered as she stood and curtsied before leaving the room. 

 

Jon kelt down before her, hands roving over her as if checking for a wound. “Daenerys,” he said, voice cracking. “What is going on? What’s wrong?”

 

She took in a great breath through her nose. He was so distraught, so worried, she felt herself almost frantic to reassure him. “The babe is fine, my love,” she told him, stroking a hair behind his ear. “All seems well.”

 

He exhaled so mightily he shook with it, his shoulders falling as if he had thrown off a yoke of great weight. “Oh thank the bloody gods,” he breathed. He cupped her face in his hands, the callus of his palms such a familiar and grounding touch she instantly warmed. “But is this not… well, happy news Daenerys? When I first saw you…  _ gods _ I could only assume something terrible.” He looked her over, his face falling again, clearly unconvinced. “But… there is something else.”

 

She bit her lip, wondering how best to come upon this subject. “The maester offered me a tincture,” she began shakily. “He told me that it would help strengthen my womb and settle my stomach.” 

 

“Aye,” Jon said. “I have heard of such potions.” 

 

“Missandei knocked the cup from my hand. I thought it an accident at first… but she later revealed that it was very much purposeful.” She looked away, blinking rapidly. She could feel Jon tense like a tow rope under her hands resting on his shoulders. His eyes grew dark and dangerous. “Missandei said she saw him put something queer into my cup. She recognized it as tansy-- an herb used… used to induce miscarriage.” 

 

Jon was very still and very quiet for what felt like an eternity. “You didn’t drink anything from this cup?” His voice was dangerously low, a simmer of slow-rolling rage boiling just below the surface. It made the hairs on her arms stand on end. 

 

“No.”

 

“And you and the babe… you are alright?” 

 

“Yes, my love.”

 

He nodded, face grim, determined. He stood from his crouch, turned on his heel, wrenched the door open and stormed out. 

 

She was locked in indecision for a moment, a strange storm brewing up within her. The previous sting of disgust and betrayal was giving way to what her husband was feeling at that moment-- an all-consuming thirst for violence. 

 

She sprang from her seat and raced after him. 

 

By the time she turned the corner down the hall where the maester’s chambers were situated, Jon was dragging him out the door and into the corridor by the billowy collar of his roughspun robes. Wolkan’s nose was bleeding and he was crying out in fear. 

 

“Please, Your Grace! Please! I’ve done nothing wrong! I’ve only ever lived to serve you!”

 

“Jon!” she shouted.

 

He looked up at her, his face strangely placid, only the savage light in his eyes betraying him within the flickering torchlight. He began marching down the hall, dragging the maester kicking and mewling behind him as if he were no more than a sack of flour. Dany got the strange impression that  had fully intended to deliver the maester back to their chambers and present him to her broken and bloody. 

 

Jon threw the man at her feet. “I think you owe my wife an apology,” he growled. 

 

Wolkan cowered, crying properly now. “I did not touch her, Your Grace, I swear it! Only when needed! Only where was appropriate! Fetch her handmaiden, she’ll attest--”

 

Jon interrupted his pleading with a swift kick to the torso. Dany heard the unmistakable crack of ribs as Wolkan curled up on the floor, wheezing. “Who do you serve?” Jon spat, bending low to get in his face.

 

“I serve you, Your Grace! I serve the House Stark-- the House Targaryen!” Wolkan blubbered.

 

“Who do you  _ really _ serve, my lord?” Dany asked, cold and quiet. “Because if you truly served me and the king I don’t think you would have slipped tansy into my tea this evening.”

 

The maester had already been pale with fright, but just then his skin went white as ash, his eyes rounded and huge with terror. He gulped, unable to answer immediately, mouth bobbing open and closed impotently. This seemed to be all the confirmation Jon needed. He fisted a hand in the front of Wolkan’s robes, lifting him up, and swung the other in a fearsome arc right into his temple that had the man out cold within a blink.

 

Jon dropped him to the floor, his breathing heavy, lip curled in a wrathful sneer she knew very well. He looked to her and stepped over the crumpled form at his feet and gathered her up in his arms with a great breath. 

 

She was a bit stunned at first, but she recovered quickly, the warmth and scent of him seeping into her marrow, spreading like a healing potion. He seemed to want to say something, but it was all tangled up within. It didn’t really matter-- she was fairly certain she understood anyway. 

 

“Your Graces!” a breathless voice cried from down the hall. And then suddenly the narrow corridor was echoing with the pounding of many feet. “Your Graces, what’s happened here? Are you alright?”

 

Jon released her somewhat haltingly and she turned to see Davos, looking from them to the unconscious maester sprawled on the floor, thoroughly perplexed. Tyrion stepped toward them both, a cadre of Unsullied behind him, along with Tormund, The Hound and Brienne. “My queen,” he began worriedly, “what’s happened? Are you alright?”

 

“I’m quite well, thank you, Lord Tyrion.” She swiped at her eyes, tears escaping she didn’t realize were there. “Thanks to Missandei and my husband.”

 

“Yes, it is Missandei who alerted us that something--”

 

“What the bloody hells is going on here?” Tormund roared, stepping forward. He pointed to Wolkan. “Did this cunt touch the queen?” Tormund’s eyes flashed dangerously as he looked between her and Jon for confirmation. 

 

“Ser Davos, kindly have maester Wolkan escorted to the dungeons” Jon told his Hand, choosing to ignore  Tormund’s question--  _ all _ questions, it seemed. “And be certain he is given the coldest, darkest cell.” 

 

Davos hesitated, eyes burning for answers, but he nodded to the guards, who stepped forward to gather the limp man into their custody and carry him away. 

 

“Clegane,” Jon called to his sworn shield, “go fetch Sam, if you would. We need someone of his expertise.” 

 

The Hound nodded and trotted off the way he had come. “Davos, there needs to be arrangements made for an execution tomorrow. See it done, if you would.” With that, he took Dany’s arm and began leading her down the hall as if no further clarification or discussion was necessary.

 

“Your Grace!” Davos stammered. “If you mean to execute maester Wolkan there will need to be a trial.” 

 

Jon halted in his progress, looking over his shoulder at his advisor. “Aye, I know that, ser Davos,” he answered, deathly quiet, “but that doesn’t mean I won’t kill him when it’s all over.” He began his progress down the hall again, his hand almost painfully tight around her own. “And see that Lady Missandei receives whatever treasure she may wish for the rest of her living days!”

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I was feeling particularly salty and petty after reading a certain Meta That Will Not Be Named so I took it out on Google Docs. Props goes to a user on r/freefolk who mentioned that Jon would never do such a thing, but he certainly would kill whoever may try. And y'all know how much I love writing angry!Jon.
> 
> Maester Wolkan was just there at the right place right time. Sorry bro. For this to really make any sense, you have to know about the Citadel's campaign to slowly poison the dragons and the Targaryens out of existence. I find it highly unlikely that they've given up this quest, especially seeing as though Dany has three actual dragons after they had worked so hard to kill them all. 
> 
> Please don't take this super seriously. And yeah, the ending is abrupt, but y'all can use your imaginations from here.
> 
> Hope you like it, Jonerys fam.


End file.
